Desk Job
by Hippothestrowl
Summary: Would a desk job help Arthur Weasley take better care of his daughter? Judge for yourselves in this flashback.


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**Desk Job**

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><p>"Molly!" Arthur Weasley's raised whisper never made it downstairs but Ginny poked her head out of her room.<p>

"Ah! Ginny, can you help me with this cravaty-thing?"

"Dad! You didn't say you were getting new dress robes." said Ginny as she dragged her father back into the light of her room and started loosening the badly-crooked knot in his cream neckerchief. His rich deep purple robes hung straight, true, and neatly pressed in contrast.

"Relax, Dad - you're early and there's plenty of time," said Ginny, scowling at the troublesome knot.

"Yes, well, first time for me and I want to make a good impression."

"Well you have then, Dad." said Ginny, nodding her head in approval.

"Hermione, lob me my wand would you?" Ginny twisted half around and pointed at her opened desk.

Hermione, who was already absorbed in rehearsing some musical coloured light charms with her own wand, casually pointed it at the jumbled contents in the desk and danced Ginny's wand from it and across the room without even breaking her rhythm or her concentration. Ginny caught it deftly and retied her father's tie with a low incantation and a couple of tiny flicks. She smoothed down his robe sleeve unnecessarily and stood back to appraise his overall appearance.

"Still using your old desk then, Gin?" said Mr. Weasley, looking over her shoulder.

"Where would I be without it?" Ginny hovered her wand back into the desk amongst the other junk and the desk obligingly lowered its lid.

"Ginny, do you remember..." He did not need to finish the question. Mr. Weasley and Ginny smiled knowingly at each other as together their thoughts went back through the years.

...

"I don't think I do enough for her Molly," said Mr. Weasley. "I mean I'm usually in touch with what the boys are up to; always understand what-"

"Oh don't start that again, Arthur. You're a good father to her," said Mrs. Weasley.

It was the end of summer but there was still plenty of daylight early that Friday evening. The couple stood together gazing out the parlour window into the garden, listening to the shrieks of laughter from Ron and Ginny who had improvised a gnomes tea party and the gnomes were not cooperating.

"What's she going to do Molly, all on her own?"

"What am I then? Scotch mist?" retorted Mrs. Weasley, with mock indignity.

"You know what I mean. I've never seen a child that wanted to go to school so badly. When Ron starts Hogwarts on Sunday I'm not sure she's thought how different it will be round here. Even worse, maybe she has. Trouble is we're a bit isolated."

"Well, there's Ottery when we can get," said Mrs. Weasley as she watched a sulky gnome trying to remove the tiny pinafore Spellotaped around him.

"Yes, we must make the effort each weekend from now on - at least till she starts Hogwarts proper. We can do that can't we, Molly? Who's that girl again? Luanna or something. She got on alright with her didn't she? Perhaps we could persuade the Lovegoods to visit Ottery together with us - have tea - make a day of it kind of thing - on a fairly regular basis I mean." Mr. Weasley scratched behind his left ear to help himself think.

"They're a bit... you know - odd," said Mrs. Weasley, "but she's nice enough. Poor kid, her mum dying like that last year. 'xpect she'd be glad for someone to play with as well."

"And more time. I must make more time for her while Ron's away."

"Arthur, you're already working all hours and extra days at the ministry," said Mrs. Weasley.

Mr. Weasley didn't seem to be listening. He was still scratching his ear. "I wish there was something we could get her."

"Oh, Arthur, you know we can't afford anything else. There's been Percy's new robes and Ron's books and goodness know what else."

"I know. I'm just saying," said Mr. Weasley, crestfallen at not being able to provide more for his only girl. He began to almost regret his refusing a promotion to Biannual Analytical Reorganization of Filing a few months back. He saw the look in his wife's eyes and he knew what she was thinking.

"I like my work as it is," he said, defensively. "BARF would just have been a desk job. You know how much I like working with muggle things."

"Too much! If you'd sell off some of your junk maybe... And don't look at me like that! Think I don't know what you've got out there?"

"No - it's not that. You've given me an idea - reminded me of something."

Mr. Weasley walked swiftly out the back door and headed for his garage. Once inside, he pushed away an old mangle and a couple of toasters, scooped a pile of electric plugs back into their box, then he stopped his hurried searching and stood thoughtfully for a few seconds. His face lit up like one of his light bulbs and he tugged a doorless dish washer away from the back wall and beamed at what he saw there.

The unitiated witch or wizard would only have seen a pile of firewood but Mr. Weasley saw much more than that. He stroked each piece lovingly while he examined them all as if they were works of art. Carefully, he studied the inky hole in one length of panel and puzzled over an old biscuit tin full of screws and small wrought-iron bracers. He looked grimly at the badly-scuffed footboard, the graffiti on a hinged panel, and put to one side what he now realized was the missing dishwasher door.

Mr. Weasley was not a sighing man. So he shrugged his shoulders, rolled up his sleeves, and set to work.

...

"Ginny! What time do you call this? You should be off to bed," Mrs Weasley stood, hands on hips, glaring at her daughter.

"Mum, what's Dad up to?" Ginny was stood on a stool in her dressing gown and leaning precariously over a sink full of suds. She was peering out through the gloom of dusk at the flickering shadows and lights spilling out from the half-open garage door. "He's been out there hours apart from dinner."

"I don't know, dear. Another one of his schemes I suppose," said Mrs. Weasley. "Here, take him a cup of tea then it's bed for you."

"Not a good idea," choked Ron from the pantry doorway. He sputtered crumbs from tomorrow's cherry pie as he mouthed silently at his mother, "See - cret!"

Ginny had not been particularly inclined to take out the tea. She had not been bothered either way. But she did not miss Ron's clumsy attempt to exclude her from some special hidden knowledge so his effort had just the opposite effect from that which he had intended. Like a ferret out of a greased drainpipe, Ginny leapt off her stool, swept away the proffered cup of tea from Mrs. Weasley and shot out the back door while her mother was still trying to figure out what Ron had been eating.

The young girl hugged her gown closer with her free arm to keep out the surprisingly cool evening air, crossed the yard, and then elbowed fully open the little side door that led into the Weasley garage. She stared at whatever her father was crouching over below his muggles' tools shelf.

"Is that a..." began Ginny but she was interrupted by Mr. Weasley's jerking his head up suddenly at the unexpected intrusion and making violent contact with the shelf above, bumping one or two tools off onto the floor with a clatter.

Mr. Weasley rubbed the top of his head and looked ruefully at the underside of his shelf. Then he rotated around in the cramped space to face his daughter while at the same time vainly trying to obscure his partly completed assembly.

"A desk!" cried Ginny. Her eyes lit up like a disbelieving lottery winner on first seeing that all the numbers match. "Dad? Is that... Is it..."

"It was meant to be a surprise. It's got a long way to go yet."

"For..."

"Yes, it's for you," said Mr. Weasley, studying his daughter's expression closely but she was not looking at him.

"That is... just wonderful."

Mr. Weasley looked back at his efforts with some surprise. His earlier vision and his enthusiasm had worn off. Having not the slightest idea of how to reconstruct a wrecked muggle desk of unknown vintage he had so far only managed to arrange the separate parts on top of and against boxes and tins to try to work out what went where. He had been wondering what to do about a missing part when Ginny had startled him.

"And it's a real one, Dad! It's a real desk not a toy," observed Ginny, eyes wide and flitting back and forth over the different sections of wood. She was trying to look at the fragile arrangement from different angles and Mr. Weasley eased aside to give her viewing room. He was still rubbing his sore head and moved cautiously clear of the offending shelf.

"Is that tea for me?" asked Mr. Weasley, anxiously watching the cup wobbling on the saucer in Ginny's shaky hand.

"Oh, yeah," said Ginny, blindly handing over the hot beverage to dock with her father's quick lunge without taking her eyes off his experimental arrangement of boards, struts, strips, and crosspieces.

"You see, those little holes won't be there when it's done properly," explained Mr. Weasley peering over his first welcome slurps for an hour or so. Some of Ginny's enthusiasm was beginning to rekindle his interest. "Look, these are nuts or bolts or... something and they get pushed in... somehow." He nudged at the screws tin on the floor with his foot.

"Very clever these muggles. I think they somehow make each nut fill up two holes," he said but tailed off rather doubtfully.

"Unless... Dad, you don't think there's not enough do you?" said Ginny, looking at her father's face properly for the first time. "Some lost I mean?"

"Well..."

"What happens if some of the holes are not filled up, Dad?"

"Erm... I... suppose it won't hold so much. So many books and things I mean."

"Why'd they make the holes if they only have to be filled up again eh, Dad?"peering closely at the would-be furniture.

"Erm..."

"It's still wonderful though." Ginny resumed gazing at her dream. She imagined herself sitting at it already. It would contain the most amazing things: textbooks and parchments and test results and schedules; potion recipes and history dates and... maybe her very own wand. The teacher would be asking a really difficult question. Ginny's hand would shoot up. She was the only one who knew the answer.

"Ginny?" Mr. Weasley looked at his daughter curiously. Ginny's eyes regained their focus.

"The nuts are not a problem anyway," said Mr. Weasley, mistaking his daughter's reverie for disappointment. "I can duplicate those easily enough."

"What about the missing side, Dad?"

Mr. Weasley cringed inwardly. He had been suppressing the nagging doubt that it might not be possible to complete the task properly. Ginny suddenly became aware of the effort he had made so far just to find and assemble the parts together sensibly. He had given up much of his precious Friday evening and his face looked tired.

"Look, I'm sorry about the side," said Mr. Weasley.

"Can't you use a repair spell on the desk?"

"No, it doesn't work like that Ginny. This one's so broken up it's like constructing something new. Now, if we had a damaged side we could fix it alright."

"Can't you just conjure up another or copy the other side?" asked Ginny.

"I tried that but the other side is the wrong way round. See this bevelled edge and the pattern on this face? It looks wrong whichever way I turn it."

"Perhaps it won't show if it's against a wall..." suggested Ginny.

"No - it has to be just right."

"Why?"

Mr. Weasley straightened himself up well clear of his shelf, lowered his cup with a clink into its saucer and looked at his daughter with a surprised expression on his face. "Because it's for you."

Ginny couldn't speak for a little while after that.

Mr. Weasley thought for that silent minute, slowly sipping his tea and looking at the pieces of wood he had positioned together. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I don't think I'll be able to finish it for Sunday."

"Can I help then Dad?" said Ginny.

"We'll see. Come on. Time you were in bed." He drained his cup and they went back to the house together.

"What do we have to do apart from pushing the nuts in the holes?" said Ginny as they crossed the yard.

"Well, the backboard's split and the lid needs cleaning down to get rid of the marks and graffiti and so on."

"Oh, I like the graffiti! That means it's a proper desk. I can add a Weasley one."

"Definitely then," said Mr. Weasley. The ambiguity was lost on Ginny but fortunately he meant what she thought he meant.

...

They found two or three hours together on Saturday afternoon and recovered a tool from the floor which they saw nicely fitted the slots in the 'nuts' so they could twist them in. Ginny started them off part way and Mr. Weasley drove them home. She carefully oiled the hinges and held the lid while Mr. Weasley attached it. The bench seat slotted neatly at the front and slid back and forth smoothly on hidden slats to allow access which Ginny happily tested far more times than was necessary. They used the mending charm together on the backboard and duplicated the left side. Finally, Mr. Weasley spoke to a colleague through the floo network to find out how to transform the side piece so it was 'just right.'

Sunday evening, Ginny was so excited when her father came home she hardly noticed the big heavy box tied with string he slipped down beside his armchair.

"Guess who I saw today, Dad!" cried Ginny, jumping up and down as soon as she heard her father was home.

Mr. Weasley, who had already been tipped off by his wife, said, "Someone we know? Someone important? Surprise me."

"Only Harry Potter that's all! He's going to Hogwart's with Ron! He looked at me! He waved at me - I think he waved at me, Dad!"

Mrs. Weasley smiled but did not contradict her daughter. Mr. Weasley looked duly astonished. "Harry Potter! Well I never!"

After the evening meal they pulled out a few splinters and smoothed down some rough edges on the desk. Mr. Weasley deleted a couple of verb phrases but left the rest of the graffiti intact. He used a scouring charm to clean the desk surfaces and a coating spell to instantly varnish it dry then they hovered it together up to Ginny's room with Mrs. Weasley coming up attentively behind.

"Where'd you want it, Gin?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"In front of the window, Dad, so I can look at the trees when I'm thinking out an answer."

"Looks good there," said Mr. Weasley as he stood back.

"One more surprise - from your father," said Mrs. Weasley. She laid down the stringed box and pulled it open.

"Books!" Ginny's eyes widened. There were several free pre-school primers issued by the ministry, a lot of ancient completed and marked exam papers, a dozen blank exercise books, and a huge pile of scrap parchments only used on one side. These were quickly established inside the desk and the lid got well used while she checked and rechecked that all the contents were ideally arranged.

"And these are from me," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Mum!" squealed Ginny. She took the ink well, bottle, and quills and placed them reverently in place on her very own desk and stood back to survey the result.

When Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went to bed that night they looked in as usual to check Ginny was safely asleep. She was. She had fallen asleep at her desk, slumped over it, practically cradling it in her arms with her face pillowed on her open exercise book.

Mr. Weasley picked her up gently enough not to wake her and tucked her into bed. Mrs. Weasley pulled out her handkerchief and licked a corner but Mr. Weasley stopped her rubbing the ink smudge off Ginny's face with just a shake of his head. He looked proudly at the desk they had made together and tried to read what she had written but it was much too dark.

...

After they had reminisced, Ginny fluffed pointlessly at her father's cravat and said, "I've still got that first book, Dad."

"Have you really?" said Mr. Weasley. "What's it say?"

Ginny did not need to dig it out. She knew what the first line below her name and the date said by heart. "This is the best thing I ever got - my dad and my mum."

Mr. Weasley's eyes would have watered but Mrs. Weasley was calling from downstairs so he blinked very rapidly, threw back his shoulders resolutely, and held out his elbow for Ginny to grasp.

"Shall we?" said Mr. Weasley, "don't want to keep Harry waiting do we now?"

The End

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><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>

_. Spin-off from start of Chapter 9 of Dark Will Linger.  
>. Harry started at Hogwarts on September 1st, 1991 - a Sunday.<br>. Magical repair from incomplete fragments is assumed impossible._

_Comments and reviews are welcome and very encouraging. Thank you._ :)

**- Hippothestrowl**


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